Protocol
by Harkpad
Summary: Clint is called in to help with Coulson's new team, but he and Melinda May go off comms for two days soon after their mission starts. Coulson calls in help from Sitwell and Agent Ward, hoping to bring his agents back. Ward doesn't like Clint and Clint doesn't like Ward, but Ward learns a little about how Clint and Phil work that day. Clint/Coulson. Violence. brief torture scene.


**A/N: So I had to have a run with a few of the new characters coming in "Agents of SHIELD." Yes, it will probably get Jossed as soon as the show airs, but that's okay with me. It is fun to have a few new characters to tinker with. So here is Phil and Clint and some of Phil's new team. Thanks to dysprositos for beta help! **

Phil's been touchy the past two days. He knows it, and he hates it. He hates losing control at work. He hates snapping at staff. Staff who just want to help and make things run smoothly for him, who want to help him keep his car clean and keep the tinkering that SHIELD R&D has done on her in top form. He doesn't think about that when he snaps.

"Don't touch Lola," he heard himself bark at the young R&D mechanic who is _supposed_ to check her out after missions. Not this time. Not after this mission. This failed mission.

Fuck.

Phil slammed his office door and tore his tie off, throwing it on the empty, empty couch. He slumped into his desk chair, flipped on his monitor and turned on his desk lamp, blinking at its sudden brightness. It's late and he's hungry and tired, but he's also wound tighter than one of Clint's bowstrings and determined to figure out what the hell is going on. He reaches for his keyboard, but the phone on his desk rings insistently.

With a sigh, he picked up the receiver. "Coulson." Efficient. Awake. Ready to deal with this shit.

"Sir, I need permission to check out your car," a terse voice at the other end of the line said.

"What?" Phil asked, confused.

"Sir, this is Agent Fitz, and my records show Barton used several of the new functions on Lola on this last mission, and I need to run some tests on her and update the payload for the Synch Three, but apparently you told my team to stay away. I need permission to check her out."

"No." He tiredly ran a hand through his hair.

"No?"

Phil liked the young engineer on most days, his keen curiosity and ability to see varying contingencies struck Phil as admirable the first time they met. His bright green eyes and easy laugh were endearing – Fitz and Clint got along a little too well from the start, actually.

Phil has had to drag Clint away from the R&D garage late at night a few too many times after Fitz started "tricking Lola out" as Clint called it, and Clint and Fitz had been caught commiserating over a few beers with tech specs at a bar one night not too long ago. Phil had confiscated the specs in the name of 'saving us all from the two of you.'

Clint had protested, but Phil had just sighed and quietly reminded Clint that he had a briefing arranged in their bedroom, at which point Clint had blushed and hollered at Fritz "Gotta go! Very important meeting with Phil I have to attend!" Fitz had just groaned and told Phil he was missing valuable development opportunities just for sex. Clint had smacked him on the back of the head and said, "'Just for' nothing, Fitz. Sex with Phil is –" and Phil smacked Clint and dragged him out the door laughing.

"Fitz, listen," Phil said through a sigh. "The car was in Agent Barton's possession until he and Agent May disappeared. Forensics is supposed to have a sweep of it before you get in. As soon as they're done you can get at her."

After a beat, Fitz answered, "Okay. You could have just told my lackey that earlier and I'd have left you alone."

"You do not have _lackeys_, Agent Fitz. As I keep reminding you, those are high-level research assistants with college degrees," Phil admonished with a grin.

"Yes, sir. For future reference, I recommend you don't piss of the 'high level research assistant' who might be in charge of cleaning your car."

Phil knew that Fitz was trying to distract him and he appreciated it in spite of himself. "Sorry, Fitz. Wait for Forensics and then get her back up to field standard. Let me know if you find anything that might help us figure out why Agent Barton and Agent May ditched her."

After a pause, Fitz replied with a tired sounding "Yes, sir. I'll let you know," before he hung up abruptly.

No one was sleeping much right now, and Phil knew that Fitz was worried about Clint and May, too.

It had been two days since they'd gone off grid. It should have been easy to find Lola thanks to Fitz's 'tricks,' but they couldn't track their locator, either. Clint and May's communicators had cut out abruptly and no trace of them could be found. This morning, Phil had managed to find the car three miles away from their initial starting point for their scouting mission thanks to a civilian tip to the police, and a field team had been sweeping the area since, with no word. Phil brought Lola back to headquarters hoping something could be determined from an inspection.

Phil sat combing the police report on the car until there was a knock at his door.

"Come," he called, and leaned back as Sitwell came in carrying two cups of steaming coffee and a bag. His glasses were tucked haphazardly in his front pocket, and his shirt was rumpled. He looked like he'd been up for two days, which actually wouldn't surprise Phil at all.

"Hey," Sitwell said as he set a cup down on Phil's desk and settled into a chair nearby. "I figured you weren't going to be sleeping any time soon, and someone said you were growling at R&D people earlier, so I brought a pick-me-up." He opened the bag and tossed a wrapped sandwich to Phil. "Turkey and avocado," he added as Phil eyed it cautiously. "I figured if I got you your favorite then you'd have to eat it."

"Thanks," Phil replied, unwrapping the sandwich.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Sitwell loosened his tie and leaned back. "Here's what I don't get," he said without preamble. "May and Barton are out on a reconnaissance mission – gathering intel. I get that the intel was on a weapons developer, which explains May, but why Barton? He's only part time here nowadays, and this seems like something your new team could handle on their own."

Phil sighed. "Yeah, we could. But the weapons developer is the leader of a splinter group. We think they used to be part of an AIM group that Clint, Natasha and I took down a few years ago. He was along to corroborate that. They weren't even supposed to engage anyone." He set his sandwich down and rubbed his temples. Wishing the headache away wouldn't work, but it was all he could do at the moment.

"Wait," Sitwell said, startling Phil. "You don't mean Markum's group, do you? Those guys who were working on a laser rifle?"

Phil shook his head in amazement at Jasper's always perfect memory for cases. He was like a living catalogue of back cases, and moments like now Phil was grateful. "Yes. That's the group, why?"

Sitwell stood up quickly and threw his unfinished sandwich in the trash can. "I'll be back, Phil. Sit tight."

"Jasper, what –" Phil called, but Sitwell was out the door. Phil hated when Jasper did that. It was a bad habit – he'd blurt out partial information and then disappear until he figured the whole thing out. Sure, he usually ended up with something good – he was one of the best strategists SHIELD had – but it was incredibly aggravating. That it concerned a missing Clint simply compounded things right now.

Phil resigned himself to finishing his sandwich, and he swallowed a couple aspirin with the coffee afterward. He pulled up the police report again and was scouring it when Jasper burst back into his office carrying a map and a file folder.

"Look, Phil," he said as he cleared off the table in the corner and spread the map out. Phil stood and joined him, looking down at a grid map of Brooklyn and the area where the car was found.

"What?" Phil asked, leaning over.

Jasper put a red pushpin in the map where the car was found. "Look. Here's where they found the car. Busy intersection. Have you heard back from Forensics?"

Phil shook his head no.

"I'll bet they'll find other prints or evidence of someone else driving the car." He paused. "Try not to get pissed about that."

Phil smiled. "I'll try to keep my priorities in line." It was well known around SHIELD that Lola belonged to Phil. She did, after all; he had brought her in a few years back, beaten up and almost dead. He'd found her in the midst of a case and then he let R&D have their day with her. It was rumored that he designed her look, though, and once she was finished he didn't let anyone else but Barton and Romanov behind the wheel.

Jasper nodded. "Yeah, so I think someone else drove her. If they started here," and he put a pin in the warehouse area where Clint and May had disappeared, "then they had to disable her tracking system, which is pretty darned advanced."

Phil thought he saw where Jasper was going with this. "But why didn't her black box work anyway? That's separate from her tracking system."

Jasper nodded. "Right. Which means they got to that, too, which leads me to believe they did a number on her before they left her. This can tentatively confirm your AIM splinter group suspicion; it would have to be someone really high tech to pull that off."

Just then the phone on Phil's desk rang again. He shared a glance with Jasper and picked it up. "Coulson," he said, and then listened as Forensics checked in with him. He hung up and moved back to the table, pointing at a spot between the warehouse area and the car. "Here," he said, putting a pushpin in the map. "Here's where the tracking system went offline. The box was disabled at the same time, according to Forensics." Phil leaned over the couch and grabbed his tie, putting it back on as he talked to Sitwell. "I'm taking Ward with me."

"That'll make Clint happy," Jasper said. "Getting rescued by Ward."

It was no secret that the two men didn't get along. Ward was "super-duper serious" according to Clint, and they suspected he didn't approve of Phil and Clint's relationship, though they didn't have any hard evidence for that. Phil wished Ward was better with people, but he was a hell of an Agent, efficient and incredibly skilled at strategy and hand-to-hand, both of which Phil might need here. He tried to get Clint to leave Ward alone, but Ward's personality was the kind that grated on Clint's nerves and sent him into over-annoying mode. Even Phil had some sympathy for Ward when Clint was in full-on pester. Phil was grateful that the two men didn't have to work together very often.

Clint was only working for SHIELD on an as-needed basis these days, spending most of his time with the Avengers and training on his own at Avengers Tower. But Phil had asked him in on this, and he hoped like hell that they would find Clint in good enough shape to bitch about relying on Ward.

"I'd rather he not need rescuing, but he's been off comms for two days, so I'm not taking any chances," Phil replied. "Can I forward calls from Agent Fitz and Forensics to you?"

"Sure," Sitwell said, gathering his files, "I'll pass along anything useful."

Phil grabbed his own comm unit on the way down to the motor pool, and he was met by Grant Ward in front of a nondescript sedan. He looked like he'd stepped out of a Men In Black movie, right down to his stiff posture and sunglasses. He hardly acknowledged Phil's approach.

"You have a plan, sir?" Ward asked, his voice flat, as he climbed into the passenger side.

"Yes." As he pulled out of the garage and signed them out, he tossed a file at Ward, who pulled off his sunglasses to look. "Here's what we have on the splinter group we think might be responsible. For us, though, we're on a retrieval mission. Eyes sharp and gun ready."

Ward read as Phil drove, and Phil parked about four blocks from Clint and Agent May's last known position. Once he parked, he called Sitwell. "Agent Sitwell, report."

"Nothing to report, sir. Forensics can tell someone else drove the car, but they can't pinpoint much else. Agent Fitz says that the scanner was used, authorized by Agent Barton, an hour before they went off comms. No other findings."

"Okay," Phil replied, swallowing a thread of fear at how little they had to go on. "Assemble a backup team to be ready on my mark. Agent Ward and I are beginning our search now."

Sitwell gave the affirmative and signed off. Phil would only have to give one signal and a team would arrive within minutes as backup. For now, though, he didn't want to draw any attention. He glanced over at Ward, who was still looking through the file. "Questions, Agent Ward?"

Ward was silent for a moment and then he turned sharply and glared at Phil. Anyone else might have drawn back from the intensity of his gaze. Phil leaned forward expectantly. "What?"

"I don't have any questions about this guy or the group, sir," he said.

"But?"

"With all due respect, sir, do you think it's wise for you to be leading this search?"

Phil was stunned to silence. He had a nasty feeling he knew where this was going and he was in no mood for it. "Wise?" he repeated.

"Yes, sir. I mean. Well, you and Agent Barton are in a personal relationship. I have to be honest here and say that I'm worried about a blind spot. I don't want to get caught in the middle of something because you're too concerned about rescuing him to see clearly," Ward said, meeting Phil's gaze.

Phil forced himself to count to five, controlling his face carefully. "Agent, when you're on my team, there's no such thing as 'too concerned.' We're here to rescue Barton and May because they went missing and they're on my team. If you ever go missing, I will gladly jump into the 'middle of something' in order to get you back. Now, are you ready?"

Ward didn't flinch, but he did pause for a moment before nodding, "Yes, sir." He didn't sound convinced.

Phil didn't blame him. He hadn't worked with Clint and Phil together before this, and Phil supposed it was a legitimate concern. Still, anyone who knew them would vouch for their professionalism on the job, and Phil felt some walls against Ward going up at the accusation.

They climbed out of the car and began walking toward where Clint and May had disappeared. Phil was going to find both of his agents, and hopefully take one of them home where he belonged afterward.

* * *

Clint had heard about Melinda May long before he worked with her. Tough as shit, smart, quiet, and hell on wheels when she was pissed. They'd worked together on a couple of ops over the years, and those things had been proven true, but it had been a while. Clint remembered one op where she had singlehandedly escaped from some HYDRA agents holding her even though she had a broken arm and no weapon. She and Natasha were regular sparring partners. So Clint felt good about being out with her.

They shouldn't have been spotted. They were both in street clothes and were both very good at staying low. They'd set up on opposite sides of a warehouse, each in a spot that gave them a view of several other buildings in the area as well. It was a good set up. But three hours into their surveillance, their comms cut out completely. Clint followed protocol and stayed in position, but even his expert senses couldn't stop a tranq dart from whizzing out of a corner and hitting him in the neck. He didn't even have time to cuss anyone out before darkness overtook him.

He woke in a bare office, cuffed at the wrists and at the feet and tethered to the wall by a chain at his neck. "This feels very medieval," he said flippantly as he scoped the room. There was a wooden table in the center of the room, with a couple of metal chairs, one of which was bolted to the floor. Clint didn't like the looks of that. His eyes fell on Agent May, held in a similar fashion against the opposite wall. She was awake and watching him carefully.

"Hey. You all right?" he asked, sitting up gingerly. She nodded, but stayed quiet, just scanning the room and watching the door.

They both stayed quiet, not wanting to give anything away in case of surveillance, and they waited for what felt like hours to Clint. Finally, the door opened and a man in a suit carrying a briefcase, along with a couple of burly men in black cargo pants and black t-shirts, came into the room. They went for Agent May and unlocked her from the wall. She glared at them as they shoved her in the chair that was bolted to the floor, and Clint decided some chatter was in order.

"Ladies first, right guys?" he said with a laugh. He figured they'd be expecting him to be defensive of her, so he wanted to throw them off. "That's definitely cool with me. This doesn't look like a good situation. Speaking of, you wanna tell me what's going on? I was just minding my own business when you all decided to play big game hunters."

The man in the suit scowled at Clint. He was tall and thin, and he had piercing blue eyes and a chiseled face. He pulled something out of his pocket and laid them on the table. "Your business included matching comm devices with this one, and sitting on a roof watching our buildings. That makes this my business as well."

Clint grinned. "Yeah, well, I didn't say what business I had, huh? So what's next? You gonna beat her up for information?"

The man gave him a smile that sent a chill down Clint's spine and laughed. "You definitely know the game, don't you?" He leaned over the table and opened the briefcase and pulled out a syringe.

Fuck.

"I'm going to give you this, first, and then yes, I'm going to beat her for information," the man said, his voice silky and smooth. He walked over to Clint, who struggled against the chains. He fucking hated truth serums, which he assumed this was. He'd been trained on how to resist them, which would help here, but they made him sick for days after, which he wasn't looking forward to at all. The two goons held him down, though, and he felt the needle slide into his arm.

"You guys suck," he growled, and the goons laughed.

"While we wait for the serum to kick in," the man in the suit said, walking back over toward Agent May, "Let me tell you a few things I do know."

Clint felt the drug course through his veins, cold and intense, but he fought to listen, hoping he could use something the guy gave them. He saw May lean forward, apparently with the same idea.

"I know neither of you were 'minding your own business' thanks to the advanced communication devices you were both wearing. You two didn't give away anything interesting on these devices while I was listening in, although I did learn that you," he said, pointing at Clint, who had broken out in a cold sweat, "insist on discussing baseball teams ad nauseum."

Clint just gave a shrug. "I like the Cubs," he added.

"I also know," the suit continued, "That these devices indicate that there are only a couple of possibilities as to who you both work for, and now I know I need to move my operations elsewhere."

"How'd you find us?" Clint said through gritted teeth. He wanted to keep this guy talking as long as he could. The longer he talked, the less hitting happened, after all.

The man sighed. "I have access to technology you can only dream about. Detecting a communication device that shouldn't be there was on the simple side."

That wasn't true. Clint knew that SHIELD tech was amongst the most advanced on the planet and their comm devices were supposed to be undetectable. That they _had _been detected said a lot about who had grabbed them. He took a deep breath as his body started to tremble from the drug and nausea crept up Clint's throat. He hated this. He closed his eyes against the sick feeling in his belly.

"Ahh, the drug is kicking in, isn't it?" He motioned the two thugs to step in front of May. Phil had stewed over his new team for a long time. The only one he chose right away was May. Clint had joked that Phil just wanted someone else to be the butt of the robot jokes around there, but he did like her. Watching her brace for a blow now reminded him that he was glad it was her he was stuck with. She had been quiet the whole time, her brown eyes hard and watching Clint carefully. They both knew that Clint wouldn't give any information, which meant she was in for a beating.

Clint watched as one of the men backhanded May across the jaw and Clint felt a feeling of satisfaction as she pointedly spit the blood at the man's shoe afterward. He hit her again.

"Who do you work for?" the suited man asked darkly.

Clint swallowed bile and spat out, "The most badass motherfuckers you'll ever meet."

One of the thugs punched Agent May in the gut and Clint heard her sharp breaths afterward.

"Who sent you here?" the man tried again.

"The toughest bastard of the bunch," Clint replied, sucking deep breaths of his own through gritted teeth. He really fucking hated these serums.

"What were you looking for?"

"You, jackass."

"Why?"

Clint saw one of the men break Agent May's nose, and the sight of blood streaming down her chin combined with the drug they'd given him to actually make him sick. Once he looked back up at the man questioning him, he said, "Because we know you're up to no good." He just had to answer the questions truthfully. He had learned to be as vague as possible.

Fifteen minutes later Agent May's face was swollen and bloody, and Clint figured she probably had a couple cracked ribs. He'd thrown up again, much to the annoyance of everyone, and the man in the suit finally gave up.

Clint huddled on the floor, trying to avoid the puddle of sick at his feet, and finally someone came in and moved him to another part of the room and cleaned up the mess. They left a bottle of water with Clint and May, and Clint saw her drink hers gratefully. He knew he'd just throw it up, so he rinsed out his mouth and took just a couple of sips before awkwardly putting the lid back on and setting it down. He pulled his knees up to his chest and sat there shivering. He finally asked May, "You okay?"

"Yeah. Better than you, anyway. I don't think they even broke my ribs," she answered. "You allergic to these kinds of drugs?"

He nodded and set his head back down on his knees, wishing the shakes would go away but knowing they probably wouldn't for a few hours. "Got any ideas?"

She regarded him thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Not yet. I have a couple ideas as to who we're dealing with, but getting out is still a mystery. We need to catch them off guard, but that's going to be difficult with these neck restraints."

They settled into silence and waited. Clint thought about Phil. He knew that once they missed their second check-in, Phil would scramble a team to come find them. He just worried that someone with advanced tech like this could easily evade SHIELD's efforts. On the other hand, SHIELD's efforts were usually pretty damned good. Clint closed his eyes and leaned back, hoping to doze a little to keep the sickness at bay.

When he woke, stiff and sore, Agent May was awake, staring ahead. He stretched his legs out in front of him and she gave him a small smile. "You've been out for a while. Feel any better?" she asked.

"The shakes have stopped, so that's a plus," Clint replied. "Any idea how long we've been here?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't know how long the tranquilizer had us out. I figure about ten hours since we woke from that."

"They're probably going to try again," Clint said. "Maybe give you the drug."

"Yeah, I figure. I'm not allergic, though. Never been hit as hard as you were by it, anyway."

He sighed, swallowing. He was still nauseous and cold. "Definitely low on my list of things I hope bad guys do to me," he said and he heard her chuckle. He gave her a smile and a shrug and they waited some more.

Finally, the door opened again and the same team entered. Sure enough, they weren't much for variety. An hour later, Clint had a split lip, maybe a broken jaw, a couple bruised ribs, and bruises up and down his side. Agent May didn't give anything up, either, and Clint would've laughed at some of her responses if he wasn't feeling so shitty. He huddled into the chair as much as possible.

When the beating didn't produce anything, their captor pulled out another syringe. He gave Clint another injection without a word and left Clint tethered to the chair when he left. His vision swam and he managed a mumbled "What the hell," before he passed out.

He didn't know how long he was out, but as he came to he heard, "Barton, wake up. God damn it, come on!" He pried his eyes open and stared. Agent May was standing over him, shaking his shoulder and out of her cuffs.

"Barton," she said again, and he looked at her woozily. The swelling on her face was still there, one eye almost completely shut. Her dark black hair was unkempt and her eyes were a little wild.

"What the hell, May?" he groaned.

"Come on; get out of your cuffs. If you dislocate your thumb, you can do these. They didn't put us back in the neck tether, so if we can get out of them we can try to escape. I'm almost out of mine," she said through gritted teeth.

He tried to sit up from where he'd ended up on the floor, but the room spun. Whatever they'd given him on top of the serum was wreaking havoc with his system. "Fuck," he muttered, clenching his eyes shut.

After a moment, May reached for his cuffs, trying to help him dislocate his thumb. "This is going to hurt," she muttered, and then wrenched his thumb. Between the pain and the drugs, his body gave up and he passed out again.

He woke to May slapping his face. He weakly tried to stop her hand and she held back as soon as she saw his eyes open.

"Hey," she said, voice gentler this time. "You weren't out long. We have to get out of here. I figured out how to get the door open, okay? We can do this."

He blinked his eyes slowly as the room wavered as if he were underwater. "May," he said, surprised at how gravelly his voice was. "I don't know what they gave me, but I can't move and I can't see straight." He stared at her, trying to focus. "There are two of you, and as pretty as you are, I don't think that's a good sign of me being much help in getting out of here."

"We have to, Barton. They're going to give up on us soon and kill us. We have to get back to base and tell them what we know. Come on," she huffed, and she tried to pull him to his feet. He wanted to help, he really, really did. He was tired and sick and he really just wanted to crawl into bed and let Phil wrap himself around him and feel safe. But when she tried to pull him up his legs turned to jelly and the room tilted dangerously. He fell to the floor and groaned.

"Go," he said through clenched teeth, trying not to vomit again. "Go get help and come back for me. I can't—I can't do this."

She knelt down next to him and rubbed her hand down her face. "Coulson's gonna kill me," she muttered.

"What?" Clint asked, opening his eyes and squinting. Maybe that would make the room stop spinning. It didn't, but he was able to narrow it down to just one Agent May. "What?" he asked again.

She stared down at him and sighed. "You're Coulson's partner. He's going to kill me if I leave you here."

He closed his eyes against the tiresome problem and tried to sound as stern as he could. "Fuck that. He's going to commend you for following protocol and then send a retrieval team to get me back based on your intel. You know this is protocol," and the last few words were slurred as he felt his mouth start to go numb. This was a hell of a drug they'd dosed him with. "Go." She stared at him for a moment, placed a warm hand on his cold cheek, and then stood. He tried to follow her exit, but he could hardly move his head.

He tried to count, tried to keep track of time, but he kept slipping in an out. He never lost consciousness, but the room wavered, turned different colors, and melted once or twice. He was glad to be alone for it, and he was pissed off. If he died high as a kite, stuck in a room with some nutjob HYDRA splinter agent, he was going to count his death as the stupidest one possible.

He'd survived Loki's attack, had finally gotten his shit back together, watched with pride and a little bit of jealousy as Phil formed a new team of young, competent agents, and was an Avenger when needed. This was _not_ how he saw things ending.

When the door to the room opened and suit guy realized Agent May was gone, seeing his reaction made things just a little more bearable, although Clint seriously doubted that his suit was actually orange, and when he leaned over Clint with another needle and said that after this injection Clint would do whatever he was told?

Well, Clint might have gone a little berserk.

* * *

Phil and Ward spent two hours scouting the area around the car and finally made it to the warehouse district where Clint and Melinda had started. Phil was impressed with Ward's thoroughness as usual – he might not like the guy very much, but he was glad to have him on his team. He'd known he would when he'd chosen him and upped his clearance level.

They found a fire stairwell to one of the roofs and climbed the side of the warehouses, keeping their eyes peeled. They were two-thirds to the top when Ward said, "Stop." Phil did, and trained his eyes where Wade was pointing. Sure enough, there was movement.

They scrambled down the stairs and split in a v to try to get to whoever it was. Phil got there first.

"Agent May!" he said, stopping in his tracks. He heard Ward cut toward him. Agent May stopped where she'd been scurrying along the edge of a building, pressing herself to the wall. She peered out at Phil and visibly deflated.

"Sir," she said, her voice thick with fatigue. Phil saw that she had been beaten badly, and he saw that she was alone. He tensed and stepped toward her.

"Are you all right, May?" he asked cautiously.

She nodded and looked around. "We need to get some distance. It's the third building behind me. That's where they held us. They've still got Agent Barton."

Phil nodded and led the way away from the buildings. He trusted her judgment. If Clint was still in there they'd go for him, but not without all the information. Ward stepped close to May and offered a hand, but she brushed him off.

"I'm okay, just banged up. Sir, they have Barton on some sort of drug. That's why I couldn't bring him. He was in no condition to even stand up, and since we weren't aware of how many guards we'd be facing –"

Phil cut her off. "Protocol dictates that a dependent partner is to be left behind in that scenario. I understand." He paused and added, "What drug?" He ignored Ward's stare and waited for the information.

"Sir, they gave him an interrogation serum first, and that didn't sit well with him."

Phil groaned in frustration. "He's allergic to them. Was he puking?"

She nodded, "Yes, sir. A lot. Then about two hours ago they added something else. I think it might have been a hallucinogenic, judging from what he told me when he was ordering me out of the building."

They'd come to the unmarked van that Phil and Ward had arrived in. Phil slid the door open and helped Agent May in, but she turned to him, voice desperate. "You have to hurry, sir. Once they see that I'm gone they'll be more likely to kill him. You know that."

"Agent May, protocol demands a backup team," Agent Ward pointed out.

"Fuck protocol!" she shouted. "He cited protocol to get me out of there. You know damn well that saved me. Now they're going to kill him as soon as they realize I've gone for help. You know that as well as I do."

Phil cut Ward off with a look before he could protest. "We'll follow protocol. We don't have enough information for any other action."

He ignored Ward's impressed look and got on the comms at that point and signaled Jasper. "Agent Sitwell," he said, trying to steel his voice again.

"Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"I need a backup team at this address immediately. Add a medic as well."

"Yes, sir."

Phil took a deep breath, grabbed a notebook, and ordered Ward to look after May's injuries while she explained everything about the building in detail.

When Jasper arrived ten minutes later with three agents and a medic, Phil and Ward had already moved in on point. They knew they had at least six guards to deal with, one passage that might be locked against them, and a back door to contend with. They managed to barricade it pretty well and left one agent to guard it.

It was then that they heard gunfire.

"Around front!" Phil called to Ward, who wordlessly nodded and followed on his heels. As soon as they rounded the corner to the front entrance, someone crashed out the door, stumbling and falling to his knees. It was Clint.

He surprised Phil by pointing his gun at them. When Phil looked closer, Clint's eyes were wild, there was sweat streaming down his battered face, and his left arm hung limp at his side. Phil drew a sharp breath when he noticed the blood; it was covering his shirt, and his hands were stained with it.

"Clint," Phil said. When he got no answer he turned to Ward, who had his gun trained on Clint. "Cover me," he said simply, and Ward nodded, taking one step closer to Clint. Phil could see him scanning the door behind them for hostiles at the same time, but no one appeared to be following Clint. Phil laid his own gun down on the ground, telegraphing every move and cataloguing Clint's reactions, which were sluggish. He took a step closer to Clint, and Clint's gun raised a fraction, centering it on Phil's forehead.

"Clint, relax. It's me. Agent Ward is with me and we're going to get you out of here." He kept his voice calm. Clint told him once that he loved Phil's calm voice, that it was the sound of safety to him now. He kept using it. "You saved Agent May, and now you need to drop your weapon and come with us. I have help waiting for you."

Clint sucked in a deep breath and clenched his teeth. He looked furtively at Wade and then he looked at Phil. "Gave me some drugs, Phil. Told me they were going to get me to do whatever they wanted."

Phil felt the blood drain from his face at that; those people had inadvertently touched on Clint's new greatest fear.

"I had to get out."

Phil nodded and backed up. "You're out, Clint. You're free." He watched as Clint battled his emotions and thoughts and nodded as he finally lowered his gun. Wade stepped in and smoothly took it from him, and easily caught him as he crumpled to the ground.

Phil ordered Ward and Sitwell to take a couple agents in and sweep the building. The medic, a veteran named Palin, who had worked with Clint before, carefully rolled him over onto his back. Phil knelt down and took Clint's hand.

"Lots of drugs, sir," Clint mumbled. "Lots and lots of drugs."

"Something's wrong with his left arm, too," Phil told the medic. He knelt down over Clint and watched as Palin peeled back Clint's jacket.

"Looks like someone got him with a knife, sir." He looked back at the van and added, "I need to get Barton and May to medical."

Phil nodded and stood, tapping his comm. "Sitwell, send an agent out here to drive Barton and May back to base."

He turned his attention back to Clint, who had his eyes clenched shut and was breathing heavily as the medic put a temporary bandage on his shoulder.

"We need to move him to the van, sir," Palin said, and Phil nodded, moving behind Clint to get him under the shoulders. Clint groaned, and his head lolled against Phil's neck as they carried him back to the van.

"'verything's purple," Clint slurred. "Why are you purple, Phil?" He paused. "Tony would love to see you purple, I'll bet."

Phil chuckled. "Purple's not bad, Barton."

As they lifted him into the van, he stiffened in Phil's arms and gasped, "Lola. Where the fuck is Lola? I was in Lola before. Did she fly away, sir?"

Phil made a mental note to check with Fitz and make sure the flying thing was just a hallucination as he helped Palin settle Clint on his back and Phil gently ran his hand through Clint's hair. "No. She's safe back at base. Rest, Barton. I'll see you soon."

As Phil climbed out of the van and one of Sitwell's agents climbed into the driver's seat, Phil heard Clint mutter, "Fucking flying cars. I hate it when they do that."

He sighed and headed back to the building, where he was met by Agent Ward. The man looked stricken. "Everything okay, Agent?"

Ward stared for a moment and then nodded. "Sir. We found where they were keeping them and we found their lab. There's a ton of experiments going on there. Forensics and R&D are going to have a field day." He paused and took a deep breath.

Phil wasn't used to Wade looking startled. "What's _wrong_, Agent?"

Ward shook his head as if to clear it and replied, "Sir, there's no one left alive in there. Five guards and some guy in a suit. It looks like Barton—" he stopped and looked away. "He was drugged to the gills and beaten up. How the hell did he do that?" he said, incredulous.

Phil tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "They threatened to take his control away. He'll kill anyone who even hints at that nowadays.

Ward had been on the helicarrier the day of the Chitauri invasion last year and Phil knew he was one who was wary of Barton afterward, but now a look of understanding, and what Phil might swear was compassion, crossed his face.

Ward nodded and sighed. "Yeah, I can see how that might be the case. Well, sir, it's gonna be a basic cleanup from here. Maybe you should head to medical?"

Phil smiled and shrugged. "He's going to be pretty out of it for a while. I have a few protocols to take care of here, first. Come on." He led Ward back into the building.

He cringed at the carnage Clint had left in his wake, and he conferred with Sitwell and Ward helped him with a field report before they all headed back to base, leaving the cleanup crew to do their job.

He saw Ward leaving Clint's room a few hours later as he returned from a cafeteria run and simply nodded at the man as he passed. Phil and Clint's relationship didn't bleed into the field at all, and maybe if Ward understood that thanks to this crisis, they could all work together again in the future. Maybe someday he would understand that protocols were even more important to Clint and Phil now; they could fall back on them when their emotions tried to carry them into dangerous territory.

For now, though, Phil was going to go sit with his partner while the drugs worked their way through his system, hoping Clint didn't try to tell him that he had green antennae again.

Once was enough for Phil.


End file.
